Crash Into Me_ A Survivor's Search for Justice - Liz Seccuro [24]
Dean Davis phoned me immediately after Stacey left and agreed to meet with me in the office of the dean of students, Robert Canevari, on Monday afternoon. Finally, someone who could help. Meg and I went about our day with a sense of relief.
The following morning, my bruising and swelling had only become more apparent. My cheekbone had an obvious bruise, my lip was swollen, and the black-and-blue finger marks on my arms became more pronounced. Breathing was still a challenge, as my ribcage felt constricted. On top of that, I was still intermittently bleeding vaginally. My appointment with the deans was that afternoon, but Meg insisted that I couldn’t just wait until then. I needed to see someone at Student Health.
We pushed through the front door and I signed the register, handing over my student identification card. The receptionist asked why I was there. The waiting room was crowded with other students. I whispered that I had been raped. Her mouth made a silent O shape and she swiveled on her chair, shuffling some papers. She had me fill out a health history and evaluation, and said someone would be with me soon.
Sure enough, they called my name within minutes, and I was led to an examination room. Meg came with me and held one of my hands as I changed into a gown. I was shivering. The nurse practitioner’s name was Marge. She had a red bouffant and a soft Virginia accent. She was kind, but told me Meg would have to leave the room for the examination. She explained what she would be doing, all the while asking questions about that night. Had I showered? Douched? Urinated? Eaten? Brushed my teeth? At this point, of course I had done most of those things. I found myself wishing that I had come here first, instead of the hospital, but I had had no way of knowing that they would send me away. She had me slide down to the bottom of the examination table and put my feet in the stirrups. I had never had a gynecological exam before. I had never had the need, as I was not sexually active. The nurse told me it would be uncomfortable, and told me to breathe deeply. I stared ahead, focusing on my white gym socks. She didn’t do a rape kit as we know it today, but I remember her using words like “tears” and “lacerations” as she shined a pen light at my genitals and swabbed the area with a stinging antiseptic. An assistant nurse held my hand. Marge said I had definitely been penetrated.
I stared at the ceiling wondering when it would be over, but knowing this would be crucial evidence if William Beebe was going to be held accountable. A tear rolled down my cheek, and I prayed.
Nurse Marge took my blood pressure and temperature and examined my bruises. I was asked to flex my extremities, bend over and touch my toes, read an eye chart. She asked me if I had reported the incident. I told her I’d been to the emergency room and bailed out. She didn’t look surprised. I also said I was going to see the deans that day. “Good,” she said. “They’ll take care of this.”
“I’m so sorry,” she said.
“Me, too,” I said.
She sent me on my way with contact information for the Peer Sexual Health Educators, a student-run group. “In case you have herpes, you’ll need them,” she said. Oh my God. She calmly explained that about 20 percent of the university population had herpes at this point—but this brought on a whole new wave of fear. What if I was pregnant? Jesus Christ, I hadn’t even thought of that. I asked her if I could be pregnant as a result. She said to wait four weeks and if I had not begun menstruating by then, to come back and they would run a pregnancy test. Crash.
Meg and I had a quick, somber lunch on the Corner and she headed back to the dorm, where Jonathan was waiting to take her to the train station. She needed to get back to school and I needed to let her go. She had been so strong for me, but I needed to stand on my own now. We said our tearful good-byes and I promised to call her to make sure she got home safely and to report back the results of my meeting. I watched